


Artist

by Luckyers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Biting, Bottom!Peter, M/M, Neal's POV, PTSD, artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyers/pseuds/Luckyers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has the talent of an artist. But he can never be one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artist

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is unbeta'd and written at 2 in the morning. So please forgive me of it's messed up. Maybe my first post on AO3 shouldn't be like this but ah...the emotion needs to get out of my head.  
> Apology, guys. 
> 
> Disclaimer: as much as I want to, I don't own either of the characters involved. And I don't make money out of this.

Neal Caffrey is an artist. 

He knows what he wants from a clean canvas, or a roomful of pristine marble. Or Peter's familiar yet so-foreign body under his. 

He knows where to draw to make a slight whimper of color, or where to linger to create a loud stroke of moan. And where to gently bite down to water these flourishing roses, from watching which blossom he takes his most pleasure. 

And then he kisses his work in a pilgrim's fashion. He kisses every inches of his work. The muscular curves and shimmering sheen of the torso he leaves his kisses on. All so perfect under his artistic touch. 

Of course he feels the marks age has left on this body before he does. Yet he is not envious. He blesses those eerie shapes of scars and overflow of fat under his breathless lips. He traces them with a dab of saliva and a whole heart of wonder. 

He remembers why he doesn't have so many original works when he enters peter. 

As an artist you must know who you are.  
Under him, Peter is making soft noises that matches his name, telling him who he is. Neal. 

But no. He thinks and pushes in. That's just one of the names. Aliases. 

And this man, tight around him, is obviously not an original. 

As the climax approaches he suddenly panics. He grips on to Peter like a drowning man reaching for a straw. 

He fears that this is just another forgery. A forgery that he gives up so easily for his dreamy life of cons, lies and insecurity.  
He finishes with a desperately withheld gasp. Along with Peter. 

He painted idly on the flat abdomen of Peter's with coated finger while Peter drifts away into dreams of satchmo and El. 

Neal Caffrey is an artist. 

He paints up dreams he can't fulfill, or survive.


End file.
